


Forelsket

by Hoodoo



Series: The Long Arm of the Law [4]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Cunnilingus, Ethnic food, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Hand Feeding, Kissing, Sex whilst standing, Sweet/Hot, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 08:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, blah blah blah . . . but it's your first VDay with Cop Rick, so it has to be somewhat special.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from tumblr request by ricksugarbaby (who is also on this site, btw; check out their incredible fic): 
> 
> _Caaaaaaaaaan I have Cop Rick on Valentine's day pretty pretty please??_
> 
> How can I deny you, darling?

He knew portals made some quiet noise when they erupted, but was still surprised when you threw the door open before he could knock.

“Hello!” he began, holding out an arrangement of flowers purchased from a flower shop on the Citadel. “Happy Valentine’s Day—“

You surprised him again by shaking your head and pressing a finger to his mouth.

“Oh, uh—“ he says around your finger, “—you’re g-going to want-to put those in salt water, the fl-florist told me—“

You keep your finger to his lips, press it in harder, and give him a look.

Rick shut up.

You took the flowers—alien snap dragons? The little petal mouths bit at you softly—and quickly found a jar in the kitchen, filled it with water, shook some salt into the liquid, and put them in it. Rick was in the process of removing his coat, but you tugged it back around him. Then, by the hand, you led him down the stairs and out onto the street. 

Once there you pulled him along at a brisk pace to the street where an Uber driver was already waiting. You herded him onto the back seat.

You did all this without a word to him. Any time he opened his mouth to speak a question or statement, you shoved that finger against his lips again and glared hard enough at him that he finally understood you didn’t want him talking. 

A strange car ride later—strange, Rick thought, not because there was no speaking, but because he was studying you a little more closely than he might have, a woman he’d known for so many months and had been intimate with—before the driver pulled over. 

You took his hand again to take him off the car and back up to the street, dropping a tip for the driver.

An ethnic neighborhood. Multiple queries sprung to mind, but out of respect to your obvious wishes, Rick kept them to himself.

You smiled back at him from half a pace ahead. 

Finally, after several careful examinations of street numbers and once doubling back, you ushered him into an Ethiopian restaurant. 

It was dim and the air inside felt heavy with warm spices. Almost before his eyes adjusted, a waitress came up, asking if there were only two in your party.

You nodded and held up two fingers.

Apparently the no speaking rule applied here as well.

You both sat at the offered table. It was small, and your knees brushed under it. The restaurant was not packed completely full and the tables nearest weren’t occupied. The low murmur of conversation from other patrons seemed quite loud in your comparative silence.

You glanced through the menu and up at him once or twice, but Rick could tell you’d already made up your mind about what you were ordering. He reasoned you had probably perused the menu online before bringing him here; you’d done that previously before going to new restaurants. He’d never eaten Ethiopian before and he wondered if you knew that. He barely looked through his own menu before setting it aside, indicating his allowance for you to continue to govern this evening.

The waitress returned. She were asked if either of you had any questions; Rick raised his eyebrows in deference to you but your insistence on silence still reigned. You shook your head and instead of telling the waitress what you’d be ordering, you pointed to items on the menu.

If it was an odd way to take care of the customers, it didn’t seem to faze the waitress. 

It was curious to note that the simple act of not talking had the same effect on the people around you, and it was accepted without much alarm. Rick no longer had any desire to ask any questions or engage in any standard frivolous small talk.

He wondered if the waitress thought you two were mute.

Tea was served. He supposed hot tea was acceptable, but hot tea steeped with handfuls of spices? That was not. You smirked at his offended expression as he took a mouthful of it, then caught your waitress’s eyes.

Water was promptly brought to the table, even as you added a copious amount of honey to his drink. When Rick tried the newly doctored tea a second time, the sweetness made it marginally acceptable.

The smell of food made his stomach feel hollow. Sitting here in public without speaking to his companion made his head feel hollow. Once more he found himself analyzing you across the table from him, partially distracted by your random touches to his wrist or knees. He was a cop after all, and trained to observe.

You were bright eyed and smiled to yourself occasionally. So you weren’t upset or depressed—not that he expected you to be; you’d been in a good mood recently. This didn’t have the feel of an exercise you’d been thinking on for a while, and no obvious reason for demanding silence came to mind—

Wait. The film you’d seen. 

Rick struggled to remember what you’d mentioned about the film—

It was good to flex mental muscles, and this was giving him a work out. You’d said he would like it, and he’d see it eventually since he liked Best Picture winners. It was a modern film, but shot in black and white. Noir undertones or noir homage? But it had no gritty detective story or hardboiled protagonist . . . a tribute to something else then. Black and white. There was a clue in that. Black and white . . .

While he was thinking, the food arrived on a dented silver platter.

The waitress set it down between you, topped off his water, and left.

Now with food directly before him, his stomach was quite interested and impatient, even if it wasn’t a cuisine he’d tried before. However, no silverware had been provided, and behind sealed lips Rick wished he could ask how, exactly, was he supposed to eat?

Wordlessly, you answered his question. You tore off a bit of the flatbread all the food had been placed on, scooped up a bit of one of the selections—he couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was meat because it wasn’t green—and held it out to him, at mouth height.

This wasn’t proper; this wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Even if this was an ethnic restaurant, this was still a city, for god’s sake! People shouldn’t eat with their hands, the practice was barbaric and what would people think—

The other patrons were eating the same way, he realized, but that didn’t make it right.

Rick tried to glare you down, but his stomach betrayed him and growled loudly enough that you could hear it—

You smirked again, cocked an eyebrow to him, and held your hand steady.

Resigned, Rick leaned forward and took the offered mouthful.

The taste on his tongue was an explosion. He couldn’t identify individual flavors at the moment; just the act of receiving food kicked his need for it into high gear, and he chewed and swallowed without analyzing what passed his lips.

You had another bite ready for him.

The first minutes of the meal continued the same way, until Rick could slow down enough to savor what was placed in his mouth. The spices were new although stewed foods were not. Everything was cooked to the point of softness that didn’t need incredible mastication, although the textures weren’t all the same. The bread—injera, he recalled from the menu—was spongy and slightly sour. 

All in all, it was an interesting diversion for a meal, and he was delighted you planned this evening out.

Once his stomach stopped demanding filling, it dawned on him that you hadn’t eaten anything.

Three quarters of the platter was gone—did he really eat that much?—and you’d fed it to him bite by bite. 

There was something he needed to think on in that, allowing a woman to feed him a meal by hand, but it wasn’t here or now, in light of the obvious discrepancy that he’d consumed a majority of the shared meal. 

You sat across the table from him and smiled. He rationalized you read his dawning realization of selfishness correctly. Then, he gathered a bit of expectation from you as well.

Without a word of his intention, Rick copied your movements: tearing off a hunk of the remaining injera, folding it around a morsel of food—that was not quite as simple as it appeared; he hoped that he wasn’t making too big a fool of himself—and then offering the packet to you, just as you’d done for him.

You leaned forward at the waist to reach his fingers, then closed your lips around them.

Just as his first taste of food flooded him with primitive need to fill his stomach, the feel of your mouth gently sucking his first two fingers and thumb erupted a different visceral need in his gut.

He continued as you had, receiving the same sensual jolt of from your mouth and lips bite after offered bite. The injera had become softer during the course of the meal, soaking up liquids from the stews placed onto it; Rick had to scoop it up more carefully and hold it more tightly to present it to you. In turn, you had to use a bit more suction and your tongue to take the food from him.

He watched you, and felt your mouth, and a quiet lungful of air—not quite a moan, but not completely silent, either—escaped him.

At the exhalation, you looked him straight in the eye. Rick wondered what you were thinking of him, but before he could ask, your eyes left his to glance over his shoulder.

Your waitress reappeared momentarily.

The woman asked if your meal was fine—you nodded and smiled; Rick prayed that no one had paid attention to what was obviously foreplay—and asked if you’d like her to box the remainder of it?

Not much was left; you barely waited for him to respond before shaking your head no.

Rick was glad he hadn’t broken the silence you were still adhering to.

The waitress picked up the platter, set the bill on the table, and left.

You snatched the slip of paper away before he could reach for it. Amused, Rick watched you do some calculations in your head before dropping cash on top of it. It included a generous tip.

You stood before the waitress returned, and held your hand out to him. He took it and let you lead him back onto the street, but once there, he didn’t allow you to continue to walk ahead. He walked beside you, matching his pace with yours, staying close.

He didn’t kiss you, but he drop your hand to slide an arm around your waist. On the ride back to your apartment, you raised his hand to your mouth once again and kissed his fingertips. You allowed his middle finger to dip between your lips, just barely inside, and applied a minute amount of suction.

He made same tiny sound that he made in the restaurant here.

You released his hand, smiled, and sat back for the rest of the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Once home, the very second the front door of the building clicked shut behind you, Rick backed you against the wall. He moved you with enough force you lost your breath as you hit the frocked wallpaper of the lobby. Normally he would have hesitated, in the past he would have hesitated, but he was quicker at reading you now and your parted lips—shiny in the overhead light from a quick swipe of your tongue—and dilated pupils told him he wasn’t too rough; he hadn’t put you off.

Pressed against you, looking down on you with a neutral expression—marred by the color high on his cheeks; he could feel the flush—Rick did not dip to kiss you. He knew you expected it, with your tongue making another pass over your lower lip and the not-so-subtle flick of your eyes to his mouth. 

Instead, he caught your wrist and brought your hand near his face again, and without taking his eyes off yours, sucked your forefinger into his mouth.

You couldn’t help but watch the digit disappear into his mouth, his upper lip contracting to form around your finger. He trapped your finger between his palate and tongue; although the pressure was constant his tongue occasionally curled up and around, and the variation made you shiver and keep your eyes locked on his lips.

Rick released your finger with a ‘pop!’ that sounded like a kiss. You had just enough time to move your hand out of the way before he surged in for a real kiss, taking a step closer so he was pressed to your front, pinning you between his chest and the wall, stealing your breath.

Those matchless lips were on yours, that lithe tongue was teasing you, and he was so slender his heart beat could be felt though his ribs and clothing. You melted into him, and were happy you were supported between wall and man.

Rick broke off the kiss; you pushed your hand through the short hair on the back of his head, your finger still wet with spit, and pulled him back down for another deep kiss.

After several more seconds, he stopped again, his eyes dark and his mouth slightly open. He searched your face—for exactly what, you didn’t know—before turning on his heel and tugging you up the stairs behind him.

The lamp you’d never turned off when you left still flooded the apartment with light.

Just through the front door of the apartment, he kicked it shut as he spun you around to his front and kissed you again. There was no wall to support you this time; Rick, in his insistency, moved you backwards until the arm of the couch stopped you. His fingers slipped under your shirt and were stymied for a moment by the hooks on you bra; in another second the undergarment loosened and you felt like you were able to take a full breath for the first time since that morning.

Rick’s hands moved to your front, then, pushing the underwire of the bra out of the way and replacing them with his own hands. He cupped your breasts in his palms and used his thumb and fingers to tease your nipples to hardness.

You moaned with the caress. You didn’t want to stop kissing him, so tethered by his mouth you worked your shirt up to your neck, then as smoothly as you could, pulled back a moment to tug it up and over your head. In the same movement you shed your dangling bra and dropped both garments to the floor.

It left your hair a mess and a wry grin widened Rick’s mouth. The smile disappeared, however, into an open-mouthed moan—you couldn’t help smile watching his mouth shape morph—as you reached forward and stroked his cock through his trousers. The rub of fabric on his hardening length was friction enough to make him press his hips towards your hand.

You left off the pressure, left him hanging, left him with a groan of dismay, and worked the buttons free on his shirt. Tugging his shirt tails out of his trousers, you paused.

The hesitation was enough for him to drag his attention away from your hands.

You cocked an eyebrow and nodded towards the short hallway obviously—if not verbally—indicating adjourning to the bed?

Rick huffed a breath out through his nose in answer and caught your mouth with his again. Suddenly your hands weren’t working quickly enough: he unbuckled his belt, released the tab closure of his trousers, and was unzipped before you’d finished with the last few buttons of his shirt.

He dropped his trousers and pants but didn’t kick them off just as you freed his torso. He didn’t allow you to push his shirt and jacket completely off either; he shrugged your hands from him just as you moved them over his shoulders but not down his arms. At his obvious insistence, you moved your hands to his head again and were then glad you did to keep the contact. Still kissing you Rick bent over, slipped his hands under your skirt, and yanked your panties down to your knees.

Steadying you, with one hand he pushed them off one leg but left the other side around your ankle, caught on the heel of your shoe.

Then, still locked mouth-to-mouth, he straightened again.

You weren’t sure what his goal was, standing here against the couch. The bed was more comfortable, and the couch was okay too but Rick hadn’t let you move to the cushions—

Rick ran his hand up the back of your left thigh, his fingers dangerously close to your pussy as he reached the swell of your ass. You automatically shift your weight to your other leg; he felt that redistribution and smoothly lifted the leg he was holding. He guided it around his waist, and suddenly you had a much clearer idea of what he wanted to do.

You weren’t nearly as tall as him, and you’d never actually had sex standing face to face with a man before—standing, bent over while being fucked from behind, yes, of course! But this?—but you were turned on and flexible and let him do what he wanted.

Rick knew the logistics of it weren’t ideal, but that didn’t mean much to him in the heat of the moment. He wanted you here, right now; walking to the bedroom would cause an intolerable interruption; even moving to a more comfortable position on the sofa three steps away would take too much time! If he kept a tight hold of your waist he should be able to help keep you upright, and if he widened his stance just a bit that would steady you both and facilitate the actual act—

Rick shifted a little. There was some hindrance because of his trousers bunched at his ankles, but he ignored that as your left leg slipped a bit off his waist. He kept hold of it then, trusting that you could keep it locked around him for a moment, released it to line himself up correctly before rocking forward.

The head of his cock slipped into you and you grasped at him. There was a little more resistance than usual, with the awkward position, but he continued pressing forward and with a gasp of surprise, a white haze of ecstasy radiated up from his groin into his gut.

Sometimes he closed his eyes at the first wave of pleasure, but tonight they snapped open, his blue eyes wide at that blissful sensation. In front of him, you smiled through your own moan.

Graceless position or not, you allowing him to try it and your obvious enjoyment encouraged him enough to continue.

Rick found it was too difficult to move his hips normally. No matter how much his instinct was to bury himself as deeply in you as possible, the precarious three-legged stance was too unsteady. Not having discarded most clothing hampered movement as well. He settled for what he could—as vigorous thrusting as he was able—and even if it wasn’t completely inside you it was good, it was marvelous, it was quick and dirty, and you were so close to the outside door anyone could hear you from the hallway, clothing askew was a testament to how desperate his need was, how vital it was to be with you, to be in you—

He moaned, and when you clutched at both his shoulder and ass to keep yourself upright, he cried out. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer; there was too much stimulus from his body that he couldn’t take any more in visually. Rick tucked his face into the side of your neck as he continued, his hands holding the leg around his waist and your opposite hip tightly.

As the sounds of his moans reverberated next to your ear and his lips touched your neck, you cried out too. The tip of Rick’s tongue drew a line over your skin and you grasped him more tightly, risking losing your balance to shift your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his hair for a better grip.

His hair follicles were sensitive, you knew, and that very slight additional bodily sensation was enough to send him over the edge of pleasure.

Rick cried out loudly, the most sound he’d made tonight since you shushed him when he arrived, and came inside you.

He shook and tried to catch his breath and realized but didn’t care his grasping at you was too tight. He could feel his cock pulsing with the ejaculation and it was the most glorious feeling in the world.

The room settled back into focus after a few short, eternal, moments. Rick realized the two of you managed to still be standing: You were still clutching him for balance; he was still holding onto you with a crushing grip. 

Another realization nipped at the heels of the first: Although you’d been moaning and seemingly enjoying what he’d done, you hadn’t gotten off.

Carefully Rick peeled himself away your chest. He didn’t step back—the feeling of being inside you was still good—as he glanced down the both of you. 

You were naked from the waist up. Your skirt was bunched around your waist, covering your union. He was bare-chested but his shirt and jacket were pushed off his shoulders, now, and he was hobbled by his trousers and underwear around both ankles. Neither of you had even kicked off your shoes.

The two of you were the picture of debauchery.

Endorphins still raced through his bloodstream. A slight chill alerted him to the thin sweat he’d broken out in that he wasn’t aware of previously. You were still catching your breath too, smiling up at him. 

It occurred to him again that you hadn’t orgasmed, and that wouldn’t do.

Rick stepped back and, groaning a little, separated himself from you. There was the inevitable sense of losing something primal as his cock slipped out of you, and you groaned at the loss too.

You tried to drop your left leg, now that he wasn’t between your thighs, but he didn’t allow you. You looked up at him, surprised, and still wordlessly, Rick hoisted you up and over the arm of the sofa so that you fell backwards onto the cushions. 

You cried out, startled by the sudden, unexpected movement and automatically tried to grasp him as you tumbled, but you didn’t have any success keeping yourself vertical. You landed in an inelegant splay, your hips still elevated and legs spread while your shoulders and head were supported by the cushions.

Before you could protest or right yourself, Rick dropped to his knees and buried his face in your pussy.

You arched further up into the immediate sensation of his mouth on you and cried out in a different note. You caught his hair in one hand again and grasped the edge of the cushion with the other to steady yourself.

Rick, pleased to feel you grab his head and not push him away, glided his tongue into you. The natural taste of you combined with his own semen flooded his mouth. It didn’t bother him, tasting himself. He discovered that, lapping at you, the blend of the two of you was heady, and if his cock wasn’t so sensitive post-climax, he would have stoked himself again.

If you didn’t orgasm relatively quickly, however, that hypersensitivity would fade and he _would_ drop a hand to his cock.

But it didn’t seem that taking too long would be the case. You were keening now, and your thighs were shaking on either side of his head.

Rick paused a moment to rest his jaw, and brought his hand up to take his tongue’s place. It took no great effort to push two, then three, fingers into you, thrusting them in a way he’d denied his cock. With that, and adding gentle suction to your clit with his mouth, you tried to thrash up against him and increase the pleasure.

It was wasted energy, you trying to move into him with no support for your feet, and he chuckled at your need. He was gratified he could elicit such a response.

The chuckle and its vibration, while his lips were around your most sensitive area, amplified everything he was doing and was enough to tip you over the edge of your orgasm. You cried out and then couldn’t catch your breath as an overwhelming wave of bliss rushed over you. 

It took a moment for you to come down from your high, then you gradually became aware of the cushions below you and the position you were in was becoming uncomfortable.

From between your thighs, Rick smiled down at you. 

You grinned back, then groaned and threw your leg over his head to swing around and right yourself. You were soaking wet between your legs and you noticed a wet spot on the sofa’s arm. You fished around and pulled your panties back up.

“I like s-seeing you with your panties around one ankle,” Rick told you as he straightened his own clothing. “It’s a good look on you.”

“You like it because you were the one who put me in this state.”

“Yes.” 

You laughed as you stood up and went to him. “So we’re talking again?” 

“I didn’t r-realize you wanted to continue until tomorrow.” He gave you a critical look as he pulled you closer. “I’m s-s-surprised you lasted this long, even if you were inspired by that silent film you saw.”

“Me too!” you agreed with another laugh. “I’m glad it you figured it out and it wasn’t too weird!”

Rick kissed you through your smile. 

“Thank you for a good dinner. I’d never had that kind-Ethiopian before, and the tactile s-sensations were just as vital to the meal as the food itself.”

“Thank you for going with me. I’m glad the tactile sensations were enough to turn you on—feeding you and watching you eat was enough for me and if you hadn’t been aroused, I’d have been really frustrated. Thanks for the after dinner activities. And the flowers! Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You’re welcome. Care to head to bed?”

“Yes please. Maybe tomorrow I can feed you pancakes!”

The barest idea of a grin lifted the corners of his lips. “I don’t know if that will have the same effect.”

“And bacon—oh, the grease’ll be hot!—and scrambled eggs!” you teased. 

He couldn’t help but laugh, and so laughing, led you to your bedroom. 

_fin._


End file.
